Her expression softens as she sees how affected Shaw is. Root knows she's still going through it in questioning things, and she does sincerely care about that, even if she shows it through exposition about speculative physics or quippy little jokes.
"Real enough."
It could be another quip, but it's not; it's reassurance. She takes a few steps forward to meet her halfway.
Shaw claps both gloved hands onto Root's shoulders - not the most tender of gestures, maybe, but it serves its purpose. Root is, at the very least, solid. She leaves her hands where they are, but her grip softens a bit, her palms resting on Root's shoulders rather than squeezing them.
Okay, that one she couldn't resist, but she really is smiling helplessly at Shaw as the snow whips around them and Bear keeps watch. She can be practical, she can focus.
"I wasn't kidding, I was seriously considering the possibility that this is one of those ice versions of religious hell. You have any idea how we got here?" It's all weird enough that she's not discounting religious hell, is what she's saying; she's prepared to accept more or less anything Shaw tells her.
"No. All we know is that it wasn't supposed to happen."
And even that is intel from the Darkwalker, who doesn't exactly engender trust. Still, Shaw is inclined to believe it; she certainly doesn't feel like any of this is a part of nature's design.
"So, what, you think I died, too?" she asks, her tone as matter-of-fact as always. That initial period of shock may have passed quickly, but her hands are still on Root, and she hasn't looked away from her once. Bear is understanding of this, and contents himself with leaning against her legs.
"You have to die eventually," she says with attempted equanimity, but there's something tight around her eyes belying her real feelings. "It wasn't an unlikely outcome."
But it sounds like she hadn't. Like the Machine took care of her. Root reaches up and settles her own gloved hands on top of Shaw's on her shoulders, gently prompting without pressing her.
"Think we could catch up out of the wind? I don't like to keep Bear out here too long, and it's been a while already." Root will put up with whatever conditions she reasonably has to, but expecting that of their loving, loyal dog is another story.
No, absolutely not, because hunting for shelter means tearing her eyes away from Root, and she absolutely does not want to do that.
She doesn't say that, of course. She doesn't even contemplate saying it: when it comes to making the practical choice, Shaw very rarely flinches. But finding it easy to make a particular choice isn't the same as wanting to make it.
"Sure," she says, letting go of Root's shoulders and dropping her hands back to her sides, giving Bear's ears another rub. "We're about a mile from town, and about a quarter-mile from the mines. Dealer's choice."
Root wants the safety and space to have a proper reunion with Shaw, and out in this weather surrounded by potential predators isn't it, but she'll take whatever's quickest. Having Shaw here changes everything. She needs information and she needs to recalibrate toward whatever Shaw needs from her.
In the meantime, she can be as unerringly dedicated to her task as ever, which right now is seeking shelter. She's treating this as a potentially hostile situation.
But her gaze is fixed on Shaw, too. "Lead the way. I'm conserving battery on my implant, so I'm deaf on my right side."
Say no more: Shaw immediately moves to Root's left, flanking her bad ear.
"Has anybody told you about the Auroras yet?" she asks, her eyes forward as they walk. Sappy sustained eye contact can make its return later; for now, safety is her priority. "Electricity powers back up, but sometimes things go haywire; that might be dangerous for you."
Sappy sustained eye contact and/or saucy flirting, in Root's opinion. She's already waiting for the right moment to make the obvious joke about keeping warm together.
"The intermittent static shrieking wasn't fun," she agrees. "You're the first person I've seen. Who is 'anybody'?"
Root's potential scope of hypothetical possibilities for where she is and what's going on is vast, and there would be a strange kind of sense in it just being her and Shaw. Maybe this is a simulation. How would she differentiate her perceived reality from any other version and even know? To Root, that's not a rhetorical question; she's genuinely thinking about strategies to test it.
"It doesn't look like it, but there's a population here. Not a big one, but - thirty, forty people."
It's a low-ball guess; she's underestimating the number of people who live in buildings and settlements away from Milton's town center. This is a place where it's very easy to miss people.
"A real group of oddballs, if you ask me. But, uh-- I guess we're both used to that."
"That's more than I'd expect from what I've seen," Root comments with palpable interest. "You mean we might actually fit in? How long have you been here?"
If this isn't a simulation it's some inexplicable dimensional nonsense, which means in any case all bets about time as a dimension are off. Root wants to know everything about what Shaw's been up to more or less immediately.
"They're not our kind of oddballs," Shaw says wryly - or more accurately, they're not either of their kind of oddball, because as far as she's concerned, she and Root are two distinct oddball types that just happened to end up jiving well together. "Don't count on finding too many kindred spirits. Some of them are okay, though. I've been here for, uh..."
She has to pause to think; calendars aren't so much a thing, and she hasn't bothered keeping track manually. The length of the days is really the best time indicator, so--
Root would agree; they're complementary but opposing, like two electrons orbiting the same proton but never making direct contact with one another. They're always facing the same direction but going a different way.
What Shaw says about the others makes her think that she's been fairly solitary. Root is prone to loneliness herself and she doesn't assume Shaw would be suffering from the same, but she notes it as something to consider. Especially with what else she says.
"You made it through winter here?" she asks, trudging through snow. "That must have been tough if this counts as spring."
"You ever see that thriller movie where a flash freeze spreads across the east coast, turning everyone and everything in its path to ice? That happened here a couple months ago. Then the storm passed."
Which is to say that yes, it had been no mean feat, and the mundanity of wilderness survival has been the least of it.
"There's a bear that was an intangible ghost until it suddenly wasn't. I'll show you my scars sometime. Things that happen here don't make sense. I don't know how to prepare you for it. You just have to go along for the ride and see where it takes you."
There's an edge of frustration to her voice, though it's not directed at Root, or even at her own inadequacies at explaining the mind-bending situation. It's just that regardless of whether or not she believes that it's real, life here reminds her too much of being in Decima's hands: where opportunities to take control of her own life hadn't been entirely nonexistent, but had still been few and far between.
"I think you're going to have a harder time with that one than me, honey," Root says wryly.
She'd like answers, of course, but it isn't going to break her fundamental conception of reality to have things be kooky. She won't just passively accept whatever's going on -- she'll try to reach an explanation, try to understand -- but it won't slow her down any in the meantime.
"As long as you're here, I know where I'm going and what I'm doing."
"We should try to stick together. Come up with prearranged meeting places if we separate."
It's not their usual MO, but considering the circumstances - the extreme environment, the practical dangers of solo wilderness travel, the lack of communication options - it seems like the best choice available to them.
"I've got some friends in Lakeside - that's through the mines. You should meet them."
Maybe it wasn't their usual MO, but it is what Root greatly prefers after spending nearly a year desperately trying to find Shaw. There's no Machine here (pity) which means she can't just ask for Shaw's location at any given time. That means...
"Until and unless I can put a tracker on you, I'm not going anywhere without you," Root declares. She hesitates and then begrudgingly adds, "Unless we have to."
She's willing to be practical if she has to be, but she's not going to like it. Forcible separation is definitely possible, though, so coming up with prearranged meeting places seems wise. But they can sort all that out later -- there's something far more interesting for her to catch up on as they travel.
"You made friends?" she asks with muted delight. "Tell me about them."
Calling someone eccentric the way she is implies a whole lot despite Shaw's brief description, and she's used to reading between the lines when it comes to Shaw. Respect Michonne, see how far she can get teasing the Doctor.
"Can't wait to meet him." She's genuinely excited with a description like that. "We almost there? I think I'll need some help warming up."
Root can't resist the obvious invitation, though she isn't expecting anything to come of it necessarily. She's just never going to stop trying when Shaw keeps signaling she's receptive to it. And if they're going to have a second chance like this, she'd be a fool not to take advantage of it to the maximum extent possible.
"It takes all day to walk there; we'll go tomorrow. How do you feel about spending the night in the mines? They're on the way; you go through them to get to Lakeside."
Technically there's nothing stopping them from taking their planned rest in the mines, hiking back to Milton for the night, and then heading back out to the mines the next morning; it's completely doable physically. But energy and resource conservation are constantly on Shaw's mind here - and generally, if she can consolidate travel time, she will.
"That's what I assumed we were doing, silly. You think I'm waiting a whole day to cuddle up to you after my tragic untimely demise?"
It's hard to sound flirty while she's exhausted, freezing, and lost, and she can't exactly flutter her eyelashes at Shaw right now, but Root isn't about to stop flirting at the most awkward times now. And that includes making fun of her own death. Black humor is a coping mechanism she's leaned on her whole life, and she can tell she's going to need to do some serious coping around here. Better get started.
Silly, ill-timed flirting or no, Shaw can't deny the appeal of the idea; she kind of does want to flop down somewhere away from the wind and rest her head on Root's shoulder.
"You see it up there?" she asks, and sure enough, they're zeroing in on what looks to be a stereotypical early 20th century mine shaft opening: a hole carved into the mountain, framed by sturdy wooden planks. "I'll race you."
She will absolutely not be doing that, and neither should Root.
The absurd proposal gets a surprised laugh out of Root, and though she doesn't try to take her up on the race, she does lurch close enough to Shaw to give her a playful shove.
"You wish. I bet nobody here gets your sense of humor, do they?"
Maybe she's flattering herself with that comment, but Root likes to think she has a leg up on everyone else in terms of appreciating how special Shaw is.
She sidesteps and digs her shoulder against Root's in a lazy half-shove, but it's a sluggish, tired move. Now that they're nearing the mine entrance, she looks around to make sure that Bear is nearby, calling him to heel with a "Bear, volg."
God, it feels so natural. Falling back into old patterns is the easiest thing in the world.
Root notices the delay, the way her steps are slower and heavier than her normal blind bulldozer pace. She'd been distracted with her own exhaustion and hunger and just so relieved to see Shaw, she hadn't quite noticed and processed before.
She lets the previous thread of conversation drop, lets the silence rest for a few moments as the snow swirls around them, before she speaks again.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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"Real enough."
It could be another quip, but it's not; it's reassurance. She takes a few steps forward to meet her halfway.
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"If you faked your death, Root, I swear to god."
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Okay, that one she couldn't resist, but she really is smiling helplessly at Shaw as the snow whips around them and Bear keeps watch. She can be practical, she can focus.
"I wasn't kidding, I was seriously considering the possibility that this is one of those ice versions of religious hell. You have any idea how we got here?" It's all weird enough that she's not discounting religious hell, is what she's saying; she's prepared to accept more or less anything Shaw tells her.
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And even that is intel from the Darkwalker, who doesn't exactly engender trust. Still, Shaw is inclined to believe it; she certainly doesn't feel like any of this is a part of nature's design.
"So, what, you think I died, too?" she asks, her tone as matter-of-fact as always. That initial period of shock may have passed quickly, but her hands are still on Root, and she hasn't looked away from her once. Bear is understanding of this, and contents himself with leaning against her legs.
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But it sounds like she hadn't. Like the Machine took care of her. Root reaches up and settles her own gloved hands on top of Shaw's on her shoulders, gently prompting without pressing her.
"Think we could catch up out of the wind? I don't like to keep Bear out here too long, and it's been a while already." Root will put up with whatever conditions she reasonably has to, but expecting that of their loving, loyal dog is another story.
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She doesn't say that, of course. She doesn't even contemplate saying it: when it comes to making the practical choice, Shaw very rarely flinches. But finding it easy to make a particular choice isn't the same as wanting to make it.
"Sure," she says, letting go of Root's shoulders and dropping her hands back to her sides, giving Bear's ears another rub. "We're about a mile from town, and about a quarter-mile from the mines. Dealer's choice."
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Root wants the safety and space to have a proper reunion with Shaw, and out in this weather surrounded by potential predators isn't it, but she'll take whatever's quickest. Having Shaw here changes everything. She needs information and she needs to recalibrate toward whatever Shaw needs from her.
In the meantime, she can be as unerringly dedicated to her task as ever, which right now is seeking shelter. She's treating this as a potentially hostile situation.
But her gaze is fixed on Shaw, too. "Lead the way. I'm conserving battery on my implant, so I'm deaf on my right side."
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"Has anybody told you about the Auroras yet?" she asks, her eyes forward as they walk. Sappy sustained eye contact can make its return later; for now, safety is her priority. "Electricity powers back up, but sometimes things go haywire; that might be dangerous for you."
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"The intermittent static shrieking wasn't fun," she agrees. "You're the first person I've seen. Who is 'anybody'?"
Root's potential scope of hypothetical possibilities for where she is and what's going on is vast, and there would be a strange kind of sense in it just being her and Shaw. Maybe this is a simulation. How would she differentiate her perceived reality from any other version and even know? To Root, that's not a rhetorical question; she's genuinely thinking about strategies to test it.
my bad, I missed this!
It's a low-ball guess; she's underestimating the number of people who live in buildings and settlements away from Milton's town center. This is a place where it's very easy to miss people.
"A real group of oddballs, if you ask me. But, uh-- I guess we're both used to that."
no worries!
If this isn't a simulation it's some inexplicable dimensional nonsense, which means in any case all bets about time as a dimension are off. Root wants to know everything about what Shaw's been up to more or less immediately.
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She has to pause to think; calendars aren't so much a thing, and she hasn't bothered keeping track manually. The length of the days is really the best time indicator, so--
"I got here in the fall. It's spring now."
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What Shaw says about the others makes her think that she's been fairly solitary. Root is prone to loneliness herself and she doesn't assume Shaw would be suffering from the same, but she notes it as something to consider. Especially with what else she says.
"You made it through winter here?" she asks, trudging through snow. "That must have been tough if this counts as spring."
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Which is to say that yes, it had been no mean feat, and the mundanity of wilderness survival has been the least of it.
"There's a bear that was an intangible ghost until it suddenly wasn't. I'll show you my scars sometime. Things that happen here don't make sense. I don't know how to prepare you for it. You just have to go along for the ride and see where it takes you."
There's an edge of frustration to her voice, though it's not directed at Root, or even at her own inadequacies at explaining the mind-bending situation. It's just that regardless of whether or not she believes that it's real, life here reminds her too much of being in Decima's hands: where opportunities to take control of her own life hadn't been entirely nonexistent, but had still been few and far between.
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She'd like answers, of course, but it isn't going to break her fundamental conception of reality to have things be kooky. She won't just passively accept whatever's going on -- she'll try to reach an explanation, try to understand -- but it won't slow her down any in the meantime.
"As long as you're here, I know where I'm going and what I'm doing."
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It's not their usual MO, but considering the circumstances - the extreme environment, the practical dangers of solo wilderness travel, the lack of communication options - it seems like the best choice available to them.
"I've got some friends in Lakeside - that's through the mines. You should meet them."
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"Until and unless I can put a tracker on you, I'm not going anywhere without you," Root declares. She hesitates and then begrudgingly adds, "Unless we have to."
She's willing to be practical if she has to be, but she's not going to like it. Forcible separation is definitely possible, though, so coming up with prearranged meeting places seems wise. But they can sort all that out later -- there's something far more interesting for her to catch up on as they travel.
"You made friends?" she asks with muted delight. "Tell me about them."
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Shaw, as ever, remains unsentimental. Root will be lucky if she gets more than brief descriptions and lists of applicable skills out of her, honestly.
Michonne's a badass who's good with weaponry, and the Doctor is eccentric in the way you are. 'The Doctor' is the only thing he lets people call him."
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"Can't wait to meet him." She's genuinely excited with a description like that. "We almost there? I think I'll need some help warming up."
Root can't resist the obvious invitation, though she isn't expecting anything to come of it necessarily. She's just never going to stop trying when Shaw keeps signaling she's receptive to it. And if they're going to have a second chance like this, she'd be a fool not to take advantage of it to the maximum extent possible.
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"It takes all day to walk there; we'll go tomorrow. How do you feel about spending the night in the mines? They're on the way; you go through them to get to Lakeside."
Technically there's nothing stopping them from taking their planned rest in the mines, hiking back to Milton for the night, and then heading back out to the mines the next morning; it's completely doable physically. But energy and resource conservation are constantly on Shaw's mind here - and generally, if she can consolidate travel time, she will.
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It's hard to sound flirty while she's exhausted, freezing, and lost, and she can't exactly flutter her eyelashes at Shaw right now, but Root isn't about to stop flirting at the most awkward times now. And that includes making fun of her own death. Black humor is a coping mechanism she's leaned on her whole life, and she can tell she's going to need to do some serious coping around here. Better get started.
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"You see it up there?" she asks, and sure enough, they're zeroing in on what looks to be a stereotypical early 20th century mine shaft opening: a hole carved into the mountain, framed by sturdy wooden planks. "I'll race you."
She will absolutely not be doing that, and neither should Root.
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"You wish. I bet nobody here gets your sense of humor, do they?"
Maybe she's flattering herself with that comment, but Root likes to think she has a leg up on everyone else in terms of appreciating how special Shaw is.
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She sidesteps and digs her shoulder against Root's in a lazy half-shove, but it's a sluggish, tired move. Now that they're nearing the mine entrance, she looks around to make sure that Bear is nearby, calling him to heel with a "Bear, volg."
God, it feels so natural. Falling back into old patterns is the easiest thing in the world.
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She lets the previous thread of conversation drop, lets the silence rest for a few moments as the snow swirls around them, before she speaks again.
"You doing okay?"
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